Behind the window of a big house, in a vast and empty room was a small, high and round table on which was a tin cage. In this cage there was a bird. For some eyes, he was just a common bird like a sparrow or a titmouse. For others, he was special as rare as a phoenix. Yet, those eyes saw only the animal. Just a flying being. No matter what the little bird thought or felt, the only thing he had been allowed to do was to see the world through the bars of his cage, without being able to fly freely outside of it, in this world filled with colors.
Every day he was flying around his cage, waiting for a silhouette to come and open the little door of the iron prison. Every day he heard voices say that he was safe, that his prison was his paradise. Unfortunately, those voices were only concerned with their words and not with his sorrows. Every day, creating cirlces in his cage, the little bird dreamt of feeling the wind mingle with his feathers. He wanted to feel the warmth of the sun warm him in the cool of winter. But if behind his closed eyelids he saw those dreams, his eyes wide open, the reality was cold and cruel. He knew that the vision of his freedom will always have as horizon the bars of his prison.
And then one night, after so much hope and suffering, the light came into the cage, leaving only peace to cover the inert body of the little bird, keeping freedom in the darkness of the world.